Wonder, Hope and Dreams
by Alliswell21
Summary: Originally for tumblr's Birthday Drabble gifts. Prompt: Fluffy Toastbabies. Several snippets of Everlark exploring parenthood.


" _A new baby is like the beginning of all things- wonder, hope, a dream of possibilities_." **Eda J LeShan**

" _Sometimes, the smallest things take up the most room in your heart._ " **A.A. Milne**

* * *

My heart is lodge up into my throat.

How did I believe for a second, this wold be any easy is beyond comprehension, but here I am, watching a grainy image of a tiny bean with arms and legs and most miraculous of all: an insistent heart beat.

I'm terrified of course! Not of the small speck in the screen- the beginning of a person that's currently growing deep in my womb- I'm terrified, not of the child I'm carrying inside of me, but the realistic possibility that the world as we know it will change, and become inhospitable again, after all we've done to make it a safe place for children to thrive.

Still, every loud thump-thump transmitted through the monitor, bounces of the walls, resonating in the examination room. The deafening reality of my child's heart beats pushes the nagging fears to the back of my brain... at least momentarily.

The thing is, that even though this life changing event was planned, wanted and wholly expected, knowing there's a real being residing in my most secret places, depending solely on me, not just to survive, but to be made from scratch into a sentient, living person, has left me breathless and choked up in tears.

I manage to wrench my eyes away from the sonogram screen to seek Peeta, to ask what he thinks, how he feels, but I'm not sure this will be a situation in which he'll be able to answer any of my questions.

I was so lost in the image of our baby, I hadn't realized how close to the screen he was. His nose is almost touching it, but his hand though, it's still squeezing mine like a lifeline.

Old habits die hard, even during good-scary situations.

What amazes me about this moment is Peeta's ability to simultaneously sob and laugh, and still look so handsome, so steady, so sure of himself and of us.

I remember how I found the courage to embark in this pregnancy. It was him and his wholesomeness. Of course I would give him the joys of a family!

To be honest, I've been paralyzed with fear ever since we started trying, but right this second, as I see the first picture of my little miracle, I can feel the excitement growing, and the reservations taking a second row seat. The feelings this tiny person is already eliciting from both of us are completely alien and contradictory, but I know, at the end of the day, we will be alright... We have each other.

Peeta finally turns to face me, his cheeks are drenched in tears, his eyes are red-rimmed, but the blue of his irises glow like I've never seen them before. His smile is broader than the first time I properly told him I loved him, during the exposing daylight. I'm mesmerized by this new happiness reflected on his features, I think my heart just expanded one size bigger to accommodate my deepening feelings for him.

"We just saw our baby for the very first time," he says quietly, biting his trembling lip, "real, or not real?"

The question takes me aback. We haven't play this game in years, but I guess all things considered, it's use is warranted and pertinent.

"Real," I rasp barely above a raw whisper.

"I'm gonna be a daddy, real or not real?"

"Real, Peeta. You're gonna be the most wonderful daddy there ever was!" And that's the last thing I will be saying for hours, since I'm crying uncontrollably now.

* * *

 ** _2 years later..._**

I tip-toe into the nursery, my threatd quieter than when I'm tracking skittish prey during the first fall of autumn.

What I find in the room painstakingly painted by artist's hands into a fairytale-world-come-to-life, is becoming a recurring event: Peeta is past out in the rocking chair, an open story book cradled in his hands splayed on his taught stomach, our daughter's favorite baby blanket tucked under his arm, while our toddler sits on the floor- very awake!- playing with her toys quietly.

A bright grin around a pink pacifier greets me, as soon as big, round, blue eyes framed by the longest dark lashes, spy me sneaking into the nursery.

"Hi ladybug! Did you escaped daddy's sleepy arms again?" I whisper smiling, lifting my little girl from the floor.

My daughter giggles, "Dada sleep!" she says.

"Yes! I know! Dada is exhausted from working such long hours at the bakery, but we will kiss him awake, so we can tuck you into your warm little bed, and mama and dada can go night-night too! What do you think about that?"

After the little girl squeals, we do just that: take turns leaving kisses - some more drooly than others- onto Peeta's face, until tired, sleepy blue eyes open up slowly, and smile shines through.

"There's no better way to come to, than to the sight of my beautiful girls!" He says trying to stifle a yawn.

"Come on, dada. Give your baby a kiss, and lay her to sleep,"

He doesn't waste time doing so, but after the nursery's light is off, he lingers outside the door, until our little girl's breaths evens out.

* * *

 ** _1 year later..._**

"One more push, Katniss! Give me one more push, and then you can rest!"

I barely register the frantic encouragements of the midwife above the rushing of my own blood in my ears. I still bare my teeth, and brace myself with for the incoming contraction.

I growl and push with my last ounce of strength, and slump backwards on the bedding that's already soaked with perspiration.

"You are doing a wonderful job, sweetie, I can't begin to tell you how much I love you, how grateful and humbled I am for what you're doing right now for giving birth to our children! there aren't any words to express how amazing you are, Katniss. Thank you for carrying my babies and making me a father! I love you more and more for that!" soothes Peeta in soft whispers against my temple, as he blots the sweat off my face, neck and chest.

As always, our hands have remained linked together since the moment my legs were lifted unto the stirrups, and labor started in earnest.

I have no strength to respond. I'm so tired, so spent, all I want to do is close my eyes and fall asleep, but I feel the pressure of my hips shifting and expanding, pulling apart, and the spasmodic tension seizing my belly muscles, I know there'll be no rest for me yet.

It's surprising to me, how much childbirth hurts. I've been electrocuted by my own rigged arrow, shot in the gut which led to a busted spleen, I've been chased by poisonous gas, fallen from trees bruising my tailbone and rendering my ankle useless for weeks, I've been burned to a crisp, and felt the pangs of starvation and the desperation of morphling withdrawals, but never a pain has hurt as bad as giving birth. How did I go through with this once, and then decided I was willing to do it all over one more time?

My contraction comes without mercy, so I grit my teeth once more, and push with all my might. The sound that leaves the back of my throat is raw and feral.

"Push, Katniss, push!" The midwife cries out. "

"It's almost over, sweetheart... It's almost here!" Peeta says with moderate excitement.

I bear down one more time, growling ferociously, digging my nails into Peeta's flesh as I push with all my might, my voice comes out as a raw scream the moment my body feels like is being pulled inside out, but my breathless shout it's soon drown out by the shrillest, most precious sound that ever existed... The cries of brand new lungs, that fill with air for the very first time, to communicate the displeasure at finding the outside world so bright and harsh.

"It's a boy, Mister Mellark!" An excited midwife shouts, "Congratulations to you both!" she calls enthusiastically.

Gloved hands work fast, to clean the afterbirth as gently as they possibly can, but all I can register is that the warmth of Peeta's strong hand has left mine uncovered and empty.

I faintly turn my head in the direction Peeta was murmuring sweet nothings into my ear not a moment ago, and suddenly I remember why and how, was so easy to forget the pain and agony of my daughter's birth three years earlier.

Peeta's holding our brand new baby boy in his arms with such awe and adoration on his face, tears happiness prickle at my eyes. I see tears already sliding silently down Peeta's wide open eyes, I see him mouthing numbers as he counts ten impossibly tiny fingers and toes, while the nurse fusses with a soft rag, wiping down the newborn in his daddy's arms.

After the nurse is done, she steps away, allowing us some much needed privacy. Peeta cradles our son's head in one big hand, while the other one gently adjusts a tiny knitted hat atop it, and maneuvers a think blanket to wrap it around the child with practiced ease. My beloved Peeta was always meant to be a daddy, I will never regret taking that final leap with him, and the babe is so small, he fits in his father's forearm from head to toes and still has a few inches to spare before he can toe the bend of his daddy's elbow.

Once Peeta is satisfied, declaring our son to be sufficiently spruced up to meet the "pretty lady!" he leans into my bed, and carefully, slowly, lays our baby on my chest.

"He's perfect," he murmurs holding back tears.

My heavy leaded arms revitalize with the feel of the weight and warmth on my beautiful child's body, filling them.

My newborn is all round, pink cheeks, and puckered lips that seek my breast instinctually. Unlike his sister who had a head full of dark fuzzy locks, this baby has soft, fine, golden downy hair on his otherwise bold head. I believe he will undoubtedly take after his dad, and my heart swoons with the thought. I can't wait to see if this will be a miniature Peeta, I believe my heart would burst.

I hear Peeta chuckle, as our son gets rowdier in his quest for milk. To help the child out, Peeta pulls aside the cloth of my hospital gown covering my chest, freeing my breasts. The babe latches on immediately and starts sucking with brutal force. I wince at the foreign sensation, it takes a few minutes to get used to it, and a small, nervous chuckle leaves my mouth at the wet, suckling noises my son is making.

"I think he gets his appetite from me," I say sheepishly, with a wane smile.

Peeta climbs on the narrow bed, circling an arm around me, while our son feeds vigorously.

"It's a good thing he was born to a huntress and a baker then," he laughs joyfully, massaging my shoulders lovingly.

"Yeah," I agree caressing our baby's cheek and surreptitiously counting his fingers again, because I can't get enough of how tiny he is.

The nurse knocks on the door, and steps in quietly, "Katniss, Peeta... Mister Abernathy is outside, escorting an inpatient Big Sister. The anxiety to come inside, gets more evident with every passing minute,"

"Oh, tell Big Sister that there's no need to get anxious, she can come right in!" Says Peeta with a bright smile.

"Oh no, she's not the anxious one," says the nurse winking playfully, "Her companion is!"

We all get a good laugh at Haymitch's expanse and soon they're being ushered in, to meet the new addition to our little family.

A flash of of dark long waves rushes into the room, heavy breaths and pink chubby cheeks, my little girl is quick to climber over her daddy, and plop seated on his knees with a restless sigh.

"Mama, Mama... _Grumpa_ said that hospital's are no place for lizards, so I couldn't bring one for the baby!" She tells me breathlessly in a single string of fast-shot words.

"Really?" I ask smiling, I lift my eyes to 'Grumpa' Haymitch- it's a mispronunciation of course, but I think it fits him well- and see him shake his head ruefully.

"Honey bun, babies have no use for lizards. Grandpa Haymitch was right," Peeta says conciliatory.

"I told her she's a big sister now, so when the little one is older, she can knock herself out, teaching it how to catch the critters!" Says Haymitch with a twinkle in his dark seam eyes. That shining spark was born in there the day he held our little girl for the first time, the twinkle appears only when his eyes are fixed on the little girl. "Ain't that right, Sunshine?"

My daughter turns her body towards him with a pleased smile, "Yup, I will teach my baby how to get lizards, and feed geeses!"

Haymitch shakes his ruefully again, but his smile mirrors that of my daughter.

I notice him eying the bundle on my chest; I know he won't ask to see, or hold, or even come closer to look, he'll sit and wait until one of us makes the introductions, but before Haymitch meets his new 'grandson', this newborn needs to meet his big sister!

"Ladybug, do you remember why did mommy and daddy come to the hospital?" I ask cautiously. We've explained to her about the baby already, many times, but one can never be sure with a three and a half year old.

"Yeah!" She answers giving me a look, as if I just asked the silliest question, "You came to pick up my new sister or brother," she says matter-of-fact. "Then we can take it home to sing lullabies!"

"Well, almost," Peeta hedges, but before he gets technical, I shoot him a glare. He smiles at me, and continues anyway, earning an eye roll from me. "The lullabies are something I'm looking forward to," he tells me shyly.

I know how much he loves to hear me sing, and I do it freely and often this days, for him, for her and now for the little one.

Peeta returns his eyes to the matching ones on our little girl's face, "Remember we told you the baby was in mommy's belly, right?" He says studying her closely.

"Right," she shrugs.

"So, we came here, to get the baby out of mommy's belly." He beams at our little girl.

Our daughter cocks her head sideways curiously, and her big, sweet, blue eyes scan me.

"Your hair is messy, mommy," she chides.

I laugh. "I know pumpkin, I'll fix it soon," I assure her.

She continues looking at me, and finally realizes there's a foreign thing in my arms. She scoots closer to me, and stretches over her father, and then my own knees, until her little hand pulls slightly my arm so she can look down into the cocoon of blankets.

She gasps in wonder when the face of her brother is visible.

"Is that doll for me?" She asks with widened eyes and her little girl voice full of awe.

Peeta laughs and gathers her in his arms for a big papa hug. "That," he points at the baby in my arms, "isn't any old doll, Honey bun." He explains, "That's your baby brother!" I can hear the pride in his voice too.

I see Haymitch stir, and stand and take a tentative step closer to us.

"Well, there goes the neighborhood's peace and quiet," he grumbles, "You know what they say about boys..."

"What is that?" Peeta asks with a pleased smirk.

"There's never a dull moment! Or maybe it is: there's never rest for the parents? Either way, you two children are on your own!"

I know Haymitch is excited too about the new boy, and complaining about his future lack of peace is just his way to tells us he can't wait to see our son grow up. Truth is, neither can we!

* * *

 _ **4 years later...**_

I splash cold water on my heated face, just to see if I can control my own body temperature, and bring down a notch.

My head is fussy; I can feel the veins at my temples pulsing, with the beginnings of a headache.

My mouth feels dry and cottony, and like that, I start making a mental inventory of all the symptoms I'm experiencing.

I hate this part of it, the cottony, dry mouth. I reminds me too much of being thirsty in both arenas.

I hope this stage passes quickly.

I haven't said anything to Peeta yet. There hasn't been a quiet moment in which to tell him.

That insufferable Haymitch was right, once the boy got mobil, there was no stopping him... forget about catching lizards! He's pretty dexterous laying small traps for any sort of critter in the woods. He's even better that Gale ever was with his snares, and my son hasn't ever even met Gale!

Both children take after their father in their artistry. They can both wield a paintbrush or a pencil like it's no one's business, but the girl, truly is a daddy's girl, following Peeta everywhere he goes, learning the ropes of the family bakery since she could toddled; but the boy, he's a natural hunter. He still doesn't kill his catches, he's like Prim on that regard: too much love for the small bunnies that hang from their feet in the air, or the bird in the cage, or the baby chipmunk in the net... all he wants to do is bring them home to heal them, and then kiss them goodbye when they're all better.

Another thing the boy gets from my side of the family, is his smile. Surprising as it may be, Peeta was the one to point out that the boy had my father's smile. Peeta says the boy is much like he remembers me being at that age, before I became a premature adult and all carefreeness left me forever. The girl has my singing voice and Peeta's personality, which leads me to wonder... what will it be like, another child? Will there be a mix of the two of us? Will the child inherit any personality traits from Peeta's side? Oh dear! I hope it's not the Witch's hellish temper!

I dry up my face, as my stomach suddenly rumbles with hunger. I smile to myself, because this particular symptom is Peeta's favorite, since he can show off his ability to please me, whatever type of hunger it is I feel, and if I know my body well, the naughty type of hunger is soon to hit as well!

I get out of the bathroom, fixated on finding Peeta so I can spill this unexpected, unplanned, wonderful news, and demand he feeds me fresh cheese buns right this second! But as soon as I step foot in the hallway, something strikes me as odd.

Everything is quiet.

I move swiftly through the upper floor, checking every bedroom, but they're all empty. I practically run downstairs, to the living room, and clutching my chest in my fist, heave I relieved breath.

My family is piled up in the couch, slump on top of each other, chests and small ribcages slowly rising and falling with every I take of peaceful breath. Two golden heads- one big and one small- share the same cushion, the boy wedged between his father's shoulder, and the back of the couch, while a waterfall of dark, long hair spills over the wide, broad chest that usually pillows my head at night.

I smile, watching mount Mellark in slumber. There's nothing more beautiful than my loved ones snoring softly together in blissful nap.

I'm about to tip-toe out of the room, when a sleep-roughened voice that sends shivers down my spine calls me back in an amused tone.

"Here to join the clan, Sweetheart? There's room for one more," The offers comes from lopsided smiling lips, an a single blue eye open, while a big hand pats the sliver of couch reserved for me.

A nap does sound tempting, I approach the heap of sleeping Mellarks quietly, and without thinking of it, the words slip past my lips, "How about room for two?" I ask arching my eyebrows expectantly.

"Two?" Both his eyes are open now, his head lifted an inch from its resting place, lips puckered in question as his gaze drifts down my body slowly, understanding sinking in. Then a smile starts to form on Peeta's lips, lazy and unhurried. He brings his eyes back to my face; there's a softness and adoration there that fills my racing heart with peace and contentment. "I think my arms are big enough for the two of you. Hop on! who knows, maybe a fourth, or more down the line?" He winks happily.

"Mmm," I try to sound disapproving, but can't quite back it up with a scowl, "Let's get through with the third one first. A fourth one is pushing it... but I won't flat out say no, just yet, after all, number three came as total surprise to me,"

"Ah! But for me, it's perfect!" he says enveloping me in our family embrace, breathing deeply, "Now, let's sleep, something tells me we will be pulling long nights soon enough, and you beautiful mama, need to rack up all the rest you can get!"

"I can support that," I murmur into the inside of his elbow, as his arms fits under my head.

It's surprising how there's not grappling fear this time around, maybe it is because I fall more in love with Peeta every time he holds one of our babies in his arms, maybe it is because I grow a little bit saner when I hold one of our babies in my arms, maybe it is because I'm finally at peace with the world. My circumstances have changed for the better, my children are the best thing that ever happened to us, and I don't take them for granted.

"Katniss..." Peeta trails off sleepily.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," he stretches to kiss the crown of my head.

"For what?" I turn my head around to look at his mesmerizing eyes that I adore so much.

"For making me the happiest man alive," he sighs closing his eyes, sleep pulling him under easily. Before he gives into it, though, he says, "I guess the odds where in our favor after all,"

"Real," 


End file.
